In the light of the world's attitude toward woman and her duties, thenature of Carrie's mental state deserves consideration. Actions such ashers are measured by an arbitrary scale. Society possesses aconventional standard whereby it judges all things. All men should begood, all women virtuous. Wherefore, villain, hast thou failed?

For all the liberal analysis of Spencer and our modern naturalisticphilosophers, we have but an infantile perception of morals. There ismore in the subject than mere conformity to a law of evolution. It isyet deeper than conformity to things of earth alone. It is more involvedthan we, as yet, perceive. Answer, first, why the heart thrills; explainwherefore some plaintive note goes wandering about the world, undying;make clear the rose's subtle alchemy evolving its ruddy lamp in lightand rain. In the essence of these facts lie the first principles ofmorals.

"Oh," thought Drouet, "how delicious is my conquest."

"Ah," thought Carrie, with mournful misgivings, "what is it I havelost?"

Before this world-old proposition we stand, serious, interested,confused; endeavouring to evolve the true theory of morals--the trueanswer to what is right.

In the view of a certain stratum of society, Carrie was comfortablyestablished--in the eyes of the starveling, beaten by every wind andgusty sheet of rain, she was safe in a halcyon harbour. Drouet had takenthree rooms, furnished, in Ogden Place, facing Union Park, on the WestSide. That was a little, green-carpeted breathing spot, than which,to-day, there is nothing more beautiful in Chicago. It afforded a vistapleasant to contemplate. The best room looked out upon the lawn of thepark, now sear and brown, where a little lake lay sheltered. Over thebare limbs of the trees, which now swayed in the wintry wind, rose thesteeple of the Union Park Congregational Church, and far off the towersof several others.

The rooms were comfortably enough furnished. There was a good Brusselscarpet on the floor, rich in dull red and lemon shades, and representinglarge jardinières filled with gorgeous, impossible flowers. There was alarge pier-glass mirror between the two windows. A large, soft, green,plush-covered couch occupied one corner, and several rocking-chairs wereset about. Some pictures, several rugs, a few small pieces ofbric-à-brac, and the tale of contents is told.

In the bedroom, off the front room, was Carrie's trunk, bought byDrouet, and in the wardrobe built into the wall quite an array ofclothing--more than she had ever possessed before, and of very becomingdesigns. There was a third room for possible use as a kitchen, whereDrouet had Carrie establish a little portable gas stove for thepreparation of small lunches, oysters, Welsh rarebits, and the like, ofwhich he was exceedingly fond; and, lastly, a bath. The whole place wascosey, in that it was lighted by gas and heated by furnace registers,possessing also a small grate, set with an asbestos back, a method ofcheerful warming which was then first coming into use. By her industryand natural love of order, which now developed, the place maintained anair pleasing in the extreme.

Here, then, was Carrie, established in a pleasant fashion, free ofcertain difficulties which most ominously confronted her, laden withmany new ones which were of a mental order, and altogether so turnedabout in all of her earthly relationships that she might well have beena new and different individual. She looked into her glass and saw aprettier Carrie than she had seen before; she looked into her mind, amirror prepared of her own and the world's opinions, and saw a worse.Between these two images she wavered, hesitating which to believe.

"My, but you're a little beauty," Drouet was wont to exclaim to her.

She would look at him with large, pleased eyes.

"You know it, don't you?" he would continue.

"Oh, I don't know," she would reply, feeling delight in the fact thatone should think so, hesitating to believe, though she really did, thatshe was vain enough to think so much of herself.

Her conscience, however, was not a Drouet, interested to praise. Thereshe heard a different voice, with which she argued, pleaded, excused. Itwas no just and sapient counsellor, in its last analysis. It was only anaverage little conscience, a thing which represented the world, her pastenvironment, habit, convention, in a confused way. With it, the voice ofthe people was truly the voice of God.

"Oh, thou failure!" said the voice.

"Why?" she questioned.

"Look at those about," came the whispered answer. "Look at those who aregood. How would they scorn to do what you have done. Look at the goodgirls; how will they draw away from such as you when they know you havebeen weak. You had not tried before you failed."

It was when Carrie was alone, looking out across the park, that shewould be listening to this. It would come infrequently--when somethingelse did not interfere, when the pleasant side was not too apparent,when Drouet was not there. It was somewhat clear in utterance at first,but never wholly convincing. There was always an answer, always theDecember days threatened. She was alone; she was desireful; she wasfearful of the whistling wind. The voice of want made answer for her.

Once the bright days of summer pass by, a city takes on that sombre garbof grey, wrapt in which it goes about its labours during the longwinter. Its endless buildings look grey, its sky and its streets assumea sombre hue; the scattered, leafless trees and wind-blown dust andpaper but add to the general solemnity of colour. There seems to besomething in the chill breezes which scurry through the long, narrowthoroughfares productive of rueful thoughts. Not poets alone, norartists, nor that superior order of mind which arrogates to itself allrefinement, feel this, but dogs and all men. These feel as much as thepoet, though they have not the same power of expression. The sparrowupon the wire, the cat in the doorway, the dray horse tugging his wearyload, feel the long, keen breaths of winter. It strikes to the heart ofall life, animate and inanimate. If it were not for the artificial firesof merriment, the rush of profit-seeking trade, and pleasure-sellingamusements; if the various merchants failed to make the customarydisplay within and without their establishments; if our streets were notstrung with signs of gorgeous hues and thronged with hurryingpurchasers, we would quickly discover how firmly the chill hand ofwinter lays upon the heart; how dispiriting are the days during whichthe sun withholds a portion of our allowance of light and warmth. We aremore dependent upon these things than is often thought. We are insectsproduced by heat, and pass without it.

In the drag of such a grey day the secret voice would reassert itself,feebly and more feebly.

Such mental conflict was not always uppermost. Carrie was not by anymeans a gloomy soul. More, she had not the mind to get firm hold upon adefinite truth. When she could not find her way out of the labyrinth ofill-logic which thought upon the subject created, she would turn awayentirely.

Drouet, all the time, was conducting himself in a model way for one ofhis sort. He took her about a great deal, spent money upon her, and whenhe travelled took her with him. There were times when she would be alonefor two or three days, while he made the shorter circuits of hisbusiness, but, as a rule, she saw a great deal of him.

"Say, Carrie," he said one morning, shortly after they had soestablished themselves, "I've invited my friend Hurstwood to come outsome day and spend the evening with us."

"Who is he?" asked Carrie, doubtfully.

"Oh, he's a nice man. He's manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's."

"What's that?" said Carrie.

"The finest resort in town. It's a way-up, swell place."

Carrie puzzled a moment. She was wondering what Drouet had told him,what her attitude would be.

"That's all right," said Drouet, feeling her thought. "He doesn't knowanything. You're Mrs. Drouet now."

There was something about this which struck Carrie as slightlyinconsiderate. She could see that Drouet did not have the keenestsensibilities.

"Why don't we get married?" she inquired, thinking of the volublepromises he had made.

"Well, we will," he said, "just as soon as I get this little deal ofmine closed up."

He was referring to some property which he said he had, and whichrequired so much attention, adjustment, and what not, that somehow orother it interfered with his free moral, personal actions.

"Just as soon as I get back from my Denver trip in January we'll do it."

Carrie accepted this as basis for hope--it was a sort of salve to herconscience, a pleasant way out. Under the circumstances, things would berighted. Her actions would be justified.

She really was not enamoured of Drouet. She was more clever than he. Ina dim way, she was beginning to see where he lacked. If it had not beenfor this, if she had not been able to measure and judge him in a way,she would have been worse off than she was. She would have adored him.She would have been utterly wretched in her fear of not gaining hisaffection, of losing his interest, of being swept away and left withoutan anchorage. As it was, she wavered a little, slightly anxious, atfirst, to gain him completely, but later feeling at ease in waiting. Shewas not exactly sure what she thought of him--what she wanted to do.

When Hurstwood called, she met a man who was more clever than Drouet ina hundred ways. He paid that peculiar deference to women which everymember of the sex appreciates. He was not overawed, he was notover-bold. His great charm was attentiveness. Schooled in winning thosebirds of fine feather among his own sex, the merchants and professionalswho visited his resort, he could use even greater tact when endeavouringto prove agreeable to some one who charmed him. In a pretty woman of anyrefinement of feeling whatsoever he found his greatest incentive. He wasmild, placid, assured, giving the impression that he wished to be ofservice only--to do something which would make the lady more pleased.

Drouet had ability in this line himself when the game was worth thecandle, but he was too much the egotist to reach the polish whichHurstwood possessed. He was too buoyant, too full of ruddy life, tooassured. He succeeded with many who were not quite schooled in the artof love. He failed dismally where the woman was slightly experienced andpossessed innate refinement. In the case of Carrie he found a woman whowas all of the latter, but none of the former. He was lucky in the factthat opportunity tumbled into his lap, as it were. A few years later,with a little more experience, the slightest tide of success, and he hadnot been able to approach Carrie at all.

"You ought to have a piano here, Drouet," said Hurstwood, smiling atCarrie, on the evening in question, "so that your wife could play."

Drouet had not thought of that.

"So we ought," he observed readily.

"Oh, I don't play," ventured Carrie.

"It isn't very difficult," returned Hurstwood. "You could do very wellin a few weeks."

He was in the best form for entertaining this evening. His clothes wereparticularly new and rich in appearance. The coat lapels stood out withthat medium stiffness which excellent cloth possesses. The vest was of arich Scotch plaid, set with a double row of round mother-of-pearlbuttons. His cravat was a shiny combination of silken threads, not loud,not inconspicuous. What he wore did not strike the eye so forcibly asthat which Drouet had on, but Carrie could see the elegance of thematerial. Hurstwood's shoes were of soft, black calf, polished only to adull shine. Drouet wore patent leather, but Carrie could not helpfeeling that there was a distinction in favour of the soft leather,where all else was so rich. She noticed these things almostunconsciously. They were things which would naturally flow from thesituation. She was used to Drouet's appearance.

"Suppose we have a little game of euchre?" suggested Hurstwood, after alight round of conversation. He was rather dexterous in avoidingeverything that would suggest that he knew anything of Carrie's past. Hekept away from personalities altogether, and confined himself to thosethings which did not concern individuals at all. By his manner, he putCarrie at her ease, and by his deference and pleasantries he amused her.He pretended to be seriously interested in all she said.

"I don't know how to play," said Carrie.

"Charlie, you are neglecting a part of your duty," he observed to Drouetmost affably. "Between us, though," he went on, "we can show you."

By his tact he made Drouet feel that he admired his choice. There wassomething in his manner that showed that he was pleased to be there.Drouet felt really closer to him than ever before. It gave him morerespect for Carrie. Her appearance came into a new light, underHurstwood's appreciation. The situation livened considerably.

"Now, let me see," said Hurstwood, looking over Carrie's shoulder verydeferentially. "What have you?" He studied for a moment. "That's rathergood," he said.

"You're lucky. Now, I'll show you how to trounce your husband. You takemy advice."

"Here," said Drouet, "if you two are going to scheme together, I won'tstand a ghost of a show. Hurstwood's a regular sharp."

"No, it's your wife. She brings me luck. Why shouldn't she win?"

Carrie looked gratefully at Hurstwood, and smiled at Drouet. The formertook the air of a mere friend. He was simply there to enjoy himself.Anything that Carrie did was pleasing to him, nothing more.

"There," he said, holding back one of his own good cards, and givingCarrie a chance to take a trick. "I count that clever playing for abeginner."

The latter laughed gleefully as she saw the hand coming her way. It wasas if she were invincible when Hurstwood helped her.

He did not look at her often. When he did, it was with a mild light inhis eye. Not a shade was there of anything save geniality and kindness.He took back the shifty, clever gleam, and replaced it with one ofinnocence. Carrie could not guess but that it was pleasure with him inthe immediate thing. She felt that he considered she was doing a greatdeal.

"It's unfair to let such playing go without earning something," he saidafter a time, slipping his finger into the little coin pocket of hiscoat. "Let's play for dimes."

"All right," said Drouet, fishing for bills.

Hurstwood was quicker. His fingers were full of new ten-cent pieces."Here we are," he said, supplying each one with a little stack.

"Oh, this is gambling," smiled Carrie. "It's bad."

"No," said Drouet, "only fun. If you never play for more than that, youwill go to Heaven."

"Don't you moralise," said Hurstwood to Carrie gently, "until you seewhat becomes of the money."

Drouet smiled.

"If your husband gets them, he'll tell you how bad it is."

Drouet laughed loud.

There was such an ingratiating tone about Hurstwood's voice, theinsinuation was so perceptible that even Carrie got the humour of it.

"When do you leave?" said Hurstwood to Drouet.

"On Wednesday," he replied.

"It's rather hard to have your husband running about like that, isn'tit?" said Hurstwood, addressing Carrie.

"She's going along with me this time," said Drouet.

"You must both go with me to the theatre before you go."

"Certainly," said Drouet. "Eh, Carrie?"

"I'd like it ever so much," she replied.

Hurstwood did his best to see that Carrie won the money. He rejoiced inher success, kept counting her winnings, and finally gathered and putthem in her extended hand. They spread a little lunch, at which heserved the wine, and afterwards he used fine tact in going.

"Now," he said, addressing first Carrie and then Drouet with his eyes,"you must be ready at 7.30. I'll come and get you."

They went with him to the door and there was his cab waiting, its redlamps gleaming cheerfully in the shadow.

"Now," he observed to Drouet, with a tone of good-fellowship, "when youleave your wife alone, you must let me show her around a little. It willbreak up her loneliness."

"Sure," said Drouet, quite pleased at the attention shown.

"You're so kind," observed Carrie.

"Not at all," said Hurstwood, "I would want your husband to do as muchfor me."

He smiled and went lightly away. Carrie was thoroughly impressed. Shehad never come in contact with such grace. As for Drouet, he was equallypleased.

"There's a nice man," he remarked to Carrie, as they returned to theircosey chamber. "A good friend of mine, too."

"He seems to be," said Carrie.